


Loved

by frankcastlesfemfeb (Deathtouch)



Series: M i n e [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 1890s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Dubious Consent, F/F, Femslash February, Horror, New Orleans, Vampire Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/frankcastlesfemfeb
Summary: Femfeb 2017 | Shortfic1890s vampire au; amelie has a run in at the cemetery





	

**Author's Note:**

> apologies for any historical inaccuracies.  
> unbeta'd! all mistakes are my own.

The last thing Amélie expected was to see was another person between the vaults and tombs in the Saint Louis Cemetery. _La Toussaint_ and _Día de los Muertos_ were a week ago; the leftover chrysanthemum wreaths and golden marigolds were withering away all around her. Both of the consecrated Saint Louis sites had been full of families mourning their lost loved ones then but no one had business in a place like this now. Not on this day and not at this time of night.  
  
Amélie could not find a way to mourn only once a year on All Saint’s Day. Every night she paid homage to her lost love. She'd had to flee Paris and could not attend her husband’s actual grave, but she found comfort in the mausoleums of Saint Louis. It was quiet here and dark as she liked it. Amélie sought peace in the evenings by walking the paths of the cemetery alone.  
  
It was no surprise that she startled when she saw the shape of a slender boy leaning against a vault across the way. Amélie masked her surprise magnificently. She had been taking her time, walking slowly among the graves, and now she stopped. The boy lifted up his head to reveal he wasn’t a boy at all. A pale girl with freckles splashed across her face dressed in men’s clothes. The costume was poor. Amélie could see the shape of her figure and underneath her cap the softness of her face was apparent.  
  
This girl must have been sick with cholera or yellow fever. She looked pale as death. It seemed as though every time an epidemic had finally burned its way through the city a new one came running right along after it. Amélie bristled, she had no interest in catching illness.    
  
“Do you think you’re fooling anyone with that outfit, little girl?” Amélie asked unkindly.  
  
“No need to fool anyone anymore miss, I’m safe enough these days.” A British accent, bright and clear as though she’d just come off the boat. She may well have.  
  
Amélie drew up her skirts to continue on her way. “You’ll frighten someone the way you look. Run along home.”  
  
“Soon enough.” The girl replied. “I’ll head home once Satya’s satisfied.”  
  
Satya? Satisfied? Amélie scoffed scornfully. Did she even want to know? “Who are you speaking of?”  
  
The girl quirked her head, offering a small smile. “Can’t you hear her calling your name?”  
  
How positively tenebrous. If Amélie were a woman of a weaker constitution she might even be alarmed. She couldn’t hear anyone calling-  
  
“ _Amélie_.”  
  
Amélie’s head jerked to look down the narrow row ahead of her between the mausoleums and tombs. It was only a whisper but she could hear it. Somebody calling to her, calling out her name. Her eyes flashed to the girl she’d been speaking to. A trick? Had she thrown her voice? No that voice couldn’t have been hers. The tone of it wasn’t the same. A piano couldn’t make the noise of flute. Someone different had spoken to her. Someone had called out to her.  
  
Anger spurred her forward. She would find whoever was toying with her and she would make them regret the day they ever crossed paths with Amélie Lacroix. The sun had sunk into the horizon hours ago but the sky was not black yet. Dark blue blanketed the heavens above and shadows lurked behind every crypt but she could see well enough in the fading light. She would find whoever was taunting her.  
  
Amélie turned a sharp corner at the end of the row and was very suddenly met with a woman dressed in flowing red silks. She was beautiful in the way glittering gems were beautiful, like pyrope garnet and rubies. Amélie was stunned still for a moment. She realized her mistakes all at once. She should have turned tail and run the second she had seen that ghost of a girl. She was silly to rush off in an effort to confront her tormentor. Now she knew she was in over her head. Any woman this beautiful was a woman who was dangerous, if not deadly.  
  
Amélie wanted to step back. She tried to turn away. She found she couldn’t move an inch.  
  
“Come to me, Amélie.” The woman in red beckoned her closer.  
  
“No,” Amélie forced her foot back, heel scraping over the stone pathways of the ground.  
  
“Why do you struggle?”  
  
Amélie caught the scent of jasmine and it pacified her. She suddenly found herself not wanting to run at all but to step forward, to press herself into the waiting arms of this woman. She closed the distance between them, allowing herself to be caressed and then held. Her blouse revealed much of her neck to begin with so she need only brush away the stray hairs that had fallen down from her up do. Uncertainty pinched lines between her delicate eyebrows but she offered her flesh anyway.  
  
Cool lips touched her first. Then Satya bit into her neck, a sharp spike of pain that preceded a wave of pleasure. Amélie knew her name the very second that her throat was punctured. Not because she’d heard the other girl speak it but because it was inherent, the way wind blows and grass grows. A pleasure she had not felt since the last time she’d made love to her dear departed husband set Amélie off moaning. Satya’s sweet kiss pulled away too soon. Amélie heard a quiet whisper just below her ear.  
  
“Heartbroken,” Satya whispered sadly. “New Orleans is no substitute for Paris, and Saint Louis is no substitute for Montmartre where your beloved is buried. Be not afraid, Amélie. I am a good substitute for Gerard. I can love you in ways he could not.”  
  
All resistance lost, Amélie melted easily in Satya’s embrace. She craved her love as much as she craved a climax to the delicious orgasm swelling within her. She closed her eyes as Satya's lips found her throat again. A breath of wind ghosted down the path between the vaults on either side of them. Amélie could hear the whispers of marigold and chrysanthemum petals rustling all around her. Those whispers formed words. They spoke in Satya’s warm tone telling her all she wanted to her. She heard a thousand voices.  
  
_You are loved, Amélie._  
  
_You are mine._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to comment if u like!
> 
> i'm accepting prompts and suggestions for femslash february all year round. drop'em [here](http://deathtouch.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> also, please check out my [2017 femslash masterpost](http://deathtouch.tumblr.com/post/156687675803) on tumblr :) 
> 
> [tumblr](http://deathtouch.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/deathtouchxx)


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